


Arrogant Roses

by doozies



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Historical, Lemon, Love, Sex, Smut, kiss, pride and prejudice - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6281281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doozies/pseuds/doozies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the first moment Rey saw Kylo Ren, she knew he was of arrogant sorts. The way he dismissed her was inexcusable! And yet somehow, despite what her better judgement, and certain a solider may tell her, she cannot help but find herself thinking about him.<br/>(A Reylo AU fic that's crossed with Pride and Prejduice) (Smut/Lemons)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrogant Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Star Wars or Pride and Prejudice

Rey Kenobi absolutely adored balls.

“They’re so boring,” her younger sister, Mary, groaned in contempt.

Rey ignored the sullen burnet and continued to tap her feet to the lively music, smiling as she watched the happy couples dance. She wished there were more men in the assembly so that she too could have a partner. She loved dancing to the point where, sometimes, she would find herself twirling alone during her morning strolls.

But alas, for the time being, she would sit prettily and clap joyously in encouragement, laughing every so often at tripping pairs.

“Honestly,” Mary sneered, her arms crossed in defiance, “the formalities are just bogus and the amount of time it consumes in one’s evening is preposterous!”

Rey sighed, fed up with the incessant nagging, and turned to her sister, smiling lightly before chiding, “If you hate balls so much why don’t you just stay home with Ferguson?”

If there was one thing Mary hated about her household the most—other than her twin sisters’ frivolous and unbecoming etiquette—was their dog Ferguson. She could not stand that foul creature; the menace was disgusting. With its heavy breathing and saliva induced loved, the perfect word to describe _it_ was “beast”. Every time she caught eye of the brute, she would bolt away in horror while the nasty thing ran after her, eager to topple Mary to the ground and slobber all over her dress.

“You’re very rude,” Mary grumbled before turning to face the floor, mumbling incoherent offenses. At eighteen, it was so hard to get an opinion in edge wise.

Rey smiled and nudged the girl playfully before paying attention to her eldest sister Padmé, who seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. She could discreetly hear the twins giggling obsessively at the other end of the ballroom and made a silent prayer that their behavior wouldn’t warrant any scolding by the adults in the room.

            The Kenobi’s were a large family of seven. The father, a modest man and a farmer, was a quiet fellow who did not speak much and greatly appreciated silence, which was seldom offered at his estate. The mother, a woman just shy of her fortieth birthday, was of hysterical sorts. Rare was it to hear her speak below a shout; her words were always loud and incessant—not that anyone listened to her much anyways.

         Then came their daughters. Although the mother had prayed night and day to be blessed with one son as to keep the inheritance within the immediate family, the Lord was probably annoyed with all her shouting that He, instead, graced her with five daughters—five nerve wracking, bizarre and utterly crazy daughters.

            The first was Padmé Kenobi. She was always quiet—reserved—and very uncomfortable with professing her feelings. She was what Rey would call a saint: she saw no fault in anyone and even when fault was due, she would offer excuses until goodness prevail. She was the most beautiful of all the girls, with strawberry blond hair, piercing blue eyes and plush red lips. A smile was always present on her feature, however faint, and her voice calm and soft.

The second eldest was Rey Kenobi. Since she was a child, Rey was bold, unleashing her sarcastic, and very much unwanted, remarks and opinions on every poor soul she encountered. Uncaring of how her mother felt, she was quite boyish, daring to explore the outside world with adamant fervor and wondrous joy. Her skirts were often muddy and torn after she slayed those dreadful dragons and escaped captivity from the evil thorn bushes. Her utmost passion, however, came in the sanctuary of novels and great conversation. And, despite her sometimes disheveled appearance, she was quite pretty. Although Rey’s features were not as prominent and soft as Padmé’s, she was still quite a sight. Her pale skin was stretched against high cheek bones, a sharp jaw, piercing brown eyes, pouty lips and framed by dark brown hair. She was still considered a jewel in their small town of Jakku.

            The middle child was Mary Kenobi. Bland in appearance, she was still quite accomplished. Not as well-versed as Rey, nor as musically talented as Padmé, Mary had the mixture of both her sisters, and was more passionate about every accomplishment she indulged in. An avid reader in philosophy—her favorite was Plato, although she would never admit it to her Socrates-loving father—and an indulgent pianist and singer, she was also a fabulous painter. Much to her mother’s dismay—and horror—most of her work was quite morbid. Her canvases were quite vivid and detailed, often depicting a horrendous murder or grotesque scene (Mrs. Kenobi is convinced that the devil might have blown a spirit in that child, but she loves her little Mary nonetheless).

            The last two were twins—and they couldn't be anymore similar. Amelia the Giggle and Cassandra the Flirt, as their sisters’ teased. They were the most juvenile of all the girls that were six and ten, and also quite foolish when it came to love. One smile and a properly executed flirt, and their minds would immediately wander down a fantasy of ribbons, courtship and love. They were quite pretty too, with dimples and rosy cheeks. Despite not being completely identical, their similar mannerism often confused strangers into thinking they are the same. 

The family was quite known within their small country side. The father was very well respected, and it was difficult not to notice the mother. Not only this, but the girls were always a delight, especially the eldest.

            “They will marry well,” Mrs. Kenobi always boasted at balls, sipping her champagne with a delicate pinkie pointing out. She wore a pretentious smile as she would watch Padmé and a handsome-well-to-do man dance. She took great pride in her daughter’s beauty.

            And Mrs. Kenobi was not wrong. Her daughters _would_ marry well. However, she just never expected it to happen in the manner it did.

            It all began last week when the Lucas’s declared they would have a ball. No one was too awfully excited; the Lucas’s always had a ball in the spring, so this would be nothing special. It was not until the arrival of the Skywalker’s that the small buzz for the ball turned into a complete uproar.

            Mrs. Kenobi had caused a ruckus in the house—not that this wasn’t unusual.

            “Mr. Kenobi, he makes _ten thousand_ pounds a year! _Ten thousand_!” she clutched her heart and fanned her face with her hankie. Rey hated that damn hankie.

            “And what should I do for him?” Mr. Kenobi mused, flipping the page to his newspaper. “I cannot offer him anything he doesn’t already have the means of obtaining.”

            “Why Mr. Kenobi,” Mrs. Kenobi giggled, fluttering her eyes joyously, “we have five perfectly _capable_ and ample daughters.”

            “Mother!” Rey protested, dropping her book at her mother’s pimping.

            “Oh don’t you give me that tone young lady! I held you in my stomach for nine—”

            “It was eight, dear.”

            “—months, so I may do as I please with you.” She turned to glare at the man who corrected her. “And don’t you interrupt me! You know how it strains my poor nerves.”

“How I’ve forgotten of your nerves,” Ben Kenobi grumbled. “How I adore them.”

“Don’t you mock me, sir!” Sniffing and lifting her head indignantly, she continued with her purpose. “Now, I must tell you Mr. Kenobi: The Skywalkers plan on coming to the Lucas’s ball as they have just moved into the new manor at Dathomir and want to be introduced to society. So, I dare say, we are required to go to town for new dresses.”

This caused the old man to laugh heartily. For the first time in their whole morning procession, he placed his newspaper down and looked at his wife, smiling jovially at her.

“And pray, who’s pockets do you plan on tearing apart?”

“Oh Mr. Kenobi, how you are cruel!” his wife screeched. “We are in dire need of dresses!”

“No my dear, I think you mean you _desire_ dresses that I have no money to provide for.”

This only caused Mrs. Kenobi to become frantic, which was bringing Rey and Padmé a small headache. “Rey—Padmé, tell your father how you need dresses! Tell him!”

“We don’t need dresses,” Rey said immediately, smiling up from her book. “I think we have perfectly acceptable gowns for the ball already. They are modest and unrevealing, much to mother’s dismay.”

“I agree,” Padmé chimed in tentatively. She never liked picking sides.  

Now here they were, wearing the dresses that were not so very new, but new enough to not be noticed, at the Lucas’s ball, sitting, dancing and laughing, and waiting for the arrival of the Skywalkers.

With their bosoms covered, of course.

Although Rey would like to pride herself and not caring about people and their material wealth—she was a firm believer that the substance of a person is detailed by their character and sense of humor—she would every so often glance at the door, anticipating the arrival of the guests.

Then it finally came.

The scene folded out as if from a novel. It was as if everything moved in slow motion. First, there was a quiet knock on the door—not loud enough to be heard over the music—and everyone stopped what they were doing to look at the extravagant board of oak. Then, the doors seemed to open slowly, and with every inch, figures came into view until the steward stepped forward, his head straight and his posture perfect. But, no one gazed upon him. They were craning their necks high and low to catch a glimpse at the amazingly rich family that had just entered.

And just as quickly as the steward appeared, he disappeared, leaving everyone to gawk at the four people standing in front of the archway. It only took a minute before the ball resumed.

Although she never enjoyed being part of the masses, Rey too could not help but stare. She was awfully curious about these people who caused such a commotion in their small town. It was not often that a rich and young eligible bachelor came forth in society.

There were two men and two women. The first gentleman had light brown hair that shined blonde in the candlelight. He was tall, and had a slender face, almost too small for his broad body. He had an infectious smile, one that touches his eyes and adored his cheeks with deep crescents. He laughed nicely too, and almost at everything. This was Anakin Skywalker.

On either side of this man were two beautiful and well dressed girls. They were quite short, and from Rey’s analysis, they looked spoiled. She noted how intricately made their dresses were, and couldn’t help but feel a pea of envy within her heart. They had small faces as well—they were the Skywalker sisters, Emilia and Jade.

And then, there was the other man. He looked much displaced from the group. Not because of his air—his attire and expression shouted his financial superiority clear enough—but because of his features. With jet black hair that went to his shoulder and angry brown eyes, Rey was captivated as she gawked at him from between her lashes. He was so handsome, but in the most unapparent ways. His jaw was set, and sharp, his cheeks angular and unforgiving. His eyes roamed around the room, almost as if to detail everyone in it. When it passed by her, Rey’s heart jumped out of her chest and she looked away quickly, her cheeks turning maroon.

 _What an intense gaze_ , she thought.

“Rey!” Padmé whispered to her, breathless. Her face was flushed, and Rey presumed it to be from all the dancing, not the staring the dark-haired man had done.  

“What is it?” the younger sister asked frantically, getting up from her seat and grabbing onto the blond girl’s hand. Before Padmé could get a word out, their mother was behind them.

“They’re here!” Mrs. Kenobi shouted frantically. Everyone within their vicinity turned to look at the obnoxious woman. Rey’s body warmed with embarrassment; as if the townspeople needed more reason to think her mother a gold-digger.

“Keep your voice down, mother,” Rey whispered. She felt Padmé pull on her hand. Still irritated, she turned to her sister and bit out, “What?”

That’s when she saw them—the Skywalkers. Not all of them, just the men. Anakin and his friend. He was making his way towards the group of girls alongside his dark haired friend. Rey almost gasped before swallowing thickly, ashamed that maybe they have heard her mother. And her mother was still there—oh Lord this would be a horrendous introduction.

“Hello,” Mr. Skywalker greeted. He bowed his head, as did his companion, and turned to Mrs. Kenobi, who was doing everything she could not to burst out Lohengrin’s Bridal Chorus. “I’m Anakin Skywalker, and this is my friend Kylo Ren.”

Mr. Ren bowed his head. His eyes lingered on Padmé before moving to Rey. When he was done analyzing, his gaze dropped to the floor.

 _How pretentious_ , Rey scoffed internally.

“Oh yes!” Mrs. Kenobi clapped. “You own the Dathomir estate now! Well, Mr. Skywlaker, Mr. Ren, it is _very_ much a pleasure to meet you. I’m Barrie Kenobi, and these two are my eldest daughters, Padmé and Rey.” The two girls curtsied. Padmé kept her head down, too shy to look at the men, but not Rey. She gazed at them full-on.

“It is nice to meet you young ladies,” Mr. Skywalker bowed and the girls, once again curtsied (much to Rey’s annoyance—she found the whole convention useless). There was a long moment of awkward silence in which Rey continued to shift on her feet, Mr. Ren thought that there was gold beneath the wooden floors, seeing as how he was kicking the life out of it, and Padmé and Mr. Skywalker were in this creepy, but intimate, staring contest.

And, of course, Mrs. Kenobi was ten seconds away from peeing herself with joy.

Finally, Mr. Skywalker spoke, “Do you mind if I have the next two dances,” he directed his question towards Padmé. The words were spat out so fast, Rey almost thought she missed them.

It was hard for Rey to keep her smile at bay. The way Padmé’s face lit up like a Christmas tree was almost too humorous. She nodded slightly, and this caused Mr. Skywalker to smile even brighter than usual. He took her hand and lead her to the dance floor, their brilliantly lit faces a perfect match.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to dance, Mr. Ren,” Mrs. Kenobi suddenly interjected when everyone was about to part ways. Rey turned to her mother and widened her eyes in horror, trying to shake her head in the subtlest of manners. The short woman ignored her daughter. “Rey is a wonderful dancer.”

“Thank you for the offer, ma’am, but I do not like to dance,” Mr. Ren replied curtly.

Mrs. Kenobi gaped in offense, trying to keep her tone neutral, but it only came out more high-pitched than usual. “And why not, sir? Every well to do person knows how to do dance, and those higher in society are capable of enjoying such a pleasure.”

Mr. Ren snorted and looked up at the pair. Rey bit her cheek as he spoke. “A barbarian can dance.” With that, he bowed quickly and left.

Mrs. Kenobi bristled away, mumbling to herself. She then turned to Rey and half-shouted, “This wouldn’t have happened if your dress showed a bit more skin, young lady.”

And thus forth, Rey hid in the bathroom until the meals were served.


End file.
